


Iacta Alea Est

by madamedarque



Category: Rome
Genre: M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-19
Updated: 2010-12-19
Packaged: 2017-10-13 19:26:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/140832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madamedarque/pseuds/madamedarque
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vorenus spends his final days with Pullo, and reflects on the past. Set during Deus Impeditio Esuritori Nullus and De Patre Vostro.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Iacta Alea Est

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Michelle Christian (movies_michelle)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/movies_michelle/gifts).



_“The boy is blameless.”_

 _She falls gracefully, as if she had planned it, her final words a plea and a triumph. He had not known a death could be so beautiful. She seems to remain suspended in the air for an eternity until he remembers to scream. He opens his mouth and howls like a wounded animal, and there is something warm and slick sliding down his hand, something metallic in his mouth—_

 He is bleeding.

Why?

Perhaps he stabbed himself when she fell, with the knife he had planned to use for…he does not know who he meant it for, not anymore. But—

He did not stab himself, and Niobe died many years ago. He blinks confusedly. Other images flash through his mind, events that occurred afterwards, with two girls and a boy he hated and loved for what he represented.  And there were slaves and enemies and senators and subordinates and…someone else, someone important.

Perhaps he is dying.

************

 “Listen, Centurion,” he says, “and I’ll tell you a story.”

Vorenus waits patiently, because Antony will not be rushed. He is eating grapes one at a time, crushing them in his hands and dripping them into his mouth in what Vorenus considers a most vulgar fashion.

“Wine,” he says shortly. Vorenus pointedly pours a conservative amount into Antony’s goblet. The other man doesn’t seem to notice.

“Now,” Antony continues, “tell me about some woman you’ve fucked. Or man. Or goat, because I’ve tried that once. Don’t recommend it. “

Vorenus bristles; thinks, unwillingly, of Niobe. “You said you were going to tell _me_ a story, sir.”

“So I did. I changed my mind. Do you wish to make something of it, Centurion?”

Even when drunk, Antony is magnificently handsome. But the lines on his face have taken on a cruel shape, and his mouth is often twisted in an ugly grimace. Vorenus would say that it is Alexandria[i]—corrupt, colorful, sweaty, intellectual, immoral Alexandria—that has done this to his patron, but he knows better. Antony has only himself to blame for what he has become.

 Vorenus stays silent, because he was celibate for almost seven years while on campaign away from Niobe—well, almost. There was always Pullo. But he prefers not to think of Pullo, not now. Not here.

Antony is still watching him. Vorenus remains stoically silent, receiving for his efforts a hard pat on the cheek and a bark of a laugh.

“You are _such_ a fucking prude, Vorenus.”

************

Dying is more difficult than he has always thought.

Vorenus has never feared death. It would be a foolhardy trait indeed for a soldier. And he would have welcomed death, in those weeks after he killed Niobe and cursed his own children.

But someone wouldn’t let him die. _Pullo, the bastard_. He says the words out loud, involuntarily, and immediately feels guilty as Pullo’s concerned face swims into view.

“What did I do this time?” he asks cheerfully.  

“Fine gratitude from a man we’re transporting across all Upper Egypt[ii] in a wagon,” chimes a high, arrogant voice. Yes, the boy.  There is a crunch of sand as he wanders away.

“Insufferable child,” Vorenus mutters, half to himself. “I can’t believe he’s yours.”

“Oh, he’s mine all right,” says Pullo proudly. “He looks just like I did at that age. Like someone stretched me right out.” Vorenus smiles. “In any case,” he continues genially, “I’m pretty insufferable myself, aren’t I?”

Vorenus attempts to lift himself on to his elbow, but collapses back against the rough blankets. Pullo looks concerned.

“You shouldn’t do that, you know. You have to give yourself time to heal, if you’re ever going to get better.”

Vorenus closes his eyes briefly. “I’m not going to get better.”

“Juno’s cunt, you aren’t! What is all this talk, anyway? Don’t you want to see your children? Stay alive for them, if not for me.”

Vorenus looks up at the sky, a clear blue against the endless sand. Pullo is silhouetted against it, tall and tanned and worried, with several creases in his forehead. Vorenus reflects that he is never loved him better, not even when they faced down dozens of gladiators together. Not even when Pullo helped him find his children.

He sighs heavily. “I’ll stay alive for all of you.”

************

“Vorenus, it’s your turn.”

He can never decide if Cleopatra is beautiful or not.[iii] Beneath the elaborate wigs and dresses, beneath the kohl-lined eyes and the royal swagger, he knows, lies a clever and selfish young woman with an intense idea of her own importance. This girl is not beautiful, but she believes she is, and she is almost clever enough to make everyone around her believe it too.

He bows. “Your Majesty, I will take the dice.” [iv] Vorenus picks up the stones to roll in his hand, but Antony grips his shoulder, hard.

“I propose,” he drawls. “That we make this game a bit more exciting. “ He smiles at the courtiers and slaves surrounding them, enjoying the audience. “If Vorenus wins, he may ask of me anything he wishes. I promise, on the word of a Roman. If he loses, well…” Antony shrugs and grins lasciviously. “We’ll think of some punishment.”

“Not the fucking goats again, darling,” says Cleopatra mildly.

“Of course not, dear,” says Antony, still not removing his hand from Vorenus’ shoulder. “I was thinking of something much more comfortable. Or rather, somewhere. Perhaps, Centurion, you would like to take your forfeit in our bedchamber?”

Whispers and nervous giggles immediately break out. Cleopatra sits up, her face unreadable.

Antony addresses her. “What do you think of that, Isis?” Their eyes meet and she smiles coyly. Vorenus stands with wooden dignity.

Although the guests are smiling, the mood is tense. Antony is mad, and Cleopatra either shares his brand of madness or, as Vorenus privately suspects, is merely astute enough to go along with him. Vorenus has seen them murder their slaves for entertainment, and execute eminent Alexandrians for looking at them the wrong way. He must tread carefully, so that Antony does not lose face. An attack on his pride will not be allowed to go unpunished.

They are all watching him. “I will take the wager,” he says cautiously.

“Excellent!” roars Antony. Cleopatra laughs and settles back into the cushions on the floor where she had been lounging. She snaps her fingers gracefully. “More wine.”

Although he affects a neutral expression, Vorenus can feel his pulse racing. He shakes the dice, and suddenly it is as if he is back at the Collegium in the Aventine, enjoying a game with Pullo and some of the men after the evening meal.

The dice fall. The audience groans theatrically, and Vorenus experiences a moment of profound relief before he catches sight of Antony’s face, strained with anger and humiliation. But Cleopatra rises, and the whole company follows suit.

“The evening is over,” she says smoothly. “The pleasures of love, alas, have been denied us tonight.” She smiles charmingly at Vorenus, and even he cannot be completely unaffected by the magic of her presence. Then, with a glance at Antony he could almost swear is distaste, she sweeps from the room, followed by her faithful maidservants and a large portion of the household.

He stands in the center of the room as the party gradually disperses. The guests seem to understand intuitively that they are no longer welcome. At last, he is alone with Antony.

Vorenus keeps his eyes fastened straight ahead as he hears Antony drop onto the cushions behind him. He knows his patron well enough to recognize the predatory air emanating from him. He is reminded of a pitched battle, where strategy means the difference between life and death. In those situations, he takes the offensive.

He turns to Antony, who appears oddly pathetic with his head in his hands and his shirt splattered with wine.

“Sir,” he says, almost astonished at his own temerity, “you have not yet granted me your forfeit.”

Antony’s head snaps up. “Forfeit? Juno’s fucking cunt and all her mothers and sisters, what right do you have to ask me for such a thing, _Centurion_?”

“You promised me, “Vorenus says evenly, “on the word of a Roman, that you would grant me anything I wished if I won the wager. I won. Are you still a Roman, sir?”

Antony jumps to his feet. For a moment, he thinks he will strike him. Instead he looks oddly dejected.

“Perhaps…” he says softly, “perhaps I’m not anymore.” He looks at Vorenus with grudging respect. “I’ve revealed to you what I want. The question is, what do you want?” He tilts his head roguishly. “Money? A promotion? Women? Or some cock? I know you like that, at least with that handsome friend of yours. But not with me, eh?”

He laughs and crosses the room. Vorenus watches as he rifles through the cushions until he finds his pipe, then sighs as the smell fills the room.

“You are a mystery to me, Lucius Vorenus. Now, what do you ask of me?”

“I ask nothing of you. Only that you listen to what I have to say and consider it.”

Antony looks surprised. “Seems reasonable enough. Make those profound thoughts of yours known, then. I’m listening.”

Vorenus hesitates for a moment, as Antony floats away. He considers it highly likely that he will not remember this conversation in the morning.

He launches in. “Sir, you must leave this place. Leave Alexandria, leave Egypt entirely. Come to terms with Octavian.”

“That little shit, “mumbles Antony, but without any real conviction.

“We must return to Rome. You know what people will say of you and Cleopatra. They will say you have abandoned your wife for a loose woman, an enchantress. They will say she has bewitched you.”

“Can’t leave her,” he says. And then repeats, slurring slightly, “…never leave her.”

“I have to return home,” Vorenus says quietly, when he is convinced Antony is not listening. “But I will not leave you, whom I have sworn to serve. My children are there. I didn’t leave them on very good terms, and that’s my fault. All my fault. And I have a Collegium to run. Also…Titus Pullo is there.”

“Pullo,” Antony says accusatorially.

“Yes, Pullo,” Vorenus repeats. He thinks Antony has fallen asleep, but several minutes later a voice rings out, much more lucid than he had imagined.

“I can do nothing for you. It is our fate. You know what they say, Vorenus? _Iacta alea est_. The die is cast.”

************

Dying is easier after he has seen his children.

Vorena the Elder does not forgive him at first, but he overhears Pullo telling her that her father will be gone soon. So she comes into the room and sits on the bed; not forgiving, exactly, but it is something. Sometimes she spoons the food into his mouth like a child. He wishes he could say he had once done that for her, but that is not true. He was away at war for most of her childhood.

Vorena the Younger and Lucius visit him as well. He has learned to love the boy, for his dark coloring and eyes that remind him so much of Niobe. How could he have ever thought of killing him? He has much time to ponder it.

When the children aren’t with him, Pullo comes into the room. Pulling aside the curtains, trying to tempt him with food, chattering idly about the goings-on downstairs; Vorenus also wonders how he could have lived without him. Without Pullo, he would be dead many times over.

Sometimes, they just sit together, without talking. Words were never necessary between them anyway, and they are men of action. Sitting by a bed and lying in a bed for days on end is not what either of them were meant to do, and sometimes he wonders if Pullo is happy to escape the stifling sick-room.

Caesarion appears well-liked among the local children, despite his haughty manner. He told Vorena the Younger a story about elephants that had her riveted. Pullo relays this information to him proudly.

“A good boy, he is,” Pullo says, his eyes welling up with tears.

“Pullo,” Vorenus says concernedly. “What is it?”

He wipes his eyes and laughs roughly. “Nothing, brother. It’s only…I look at him and see my son by Eirene. And I’m reminded.”

“I feel the same when I look at Lucius, “ Vorenus says.

They are silent for a moment, remembering the dead.

“When I’m gone,” Vorenus says carefully, “I want you to give my portrait of Niobe to the children.”

Pullo looks shocked. “But you always told me you wanted to take it with you to the afterlife!”

He shakes his head. “The real Niobe will be waiting for me in the afterlife. The least I can do is give them something to remember her by. And also,”—he grips Pullo’s hand—“I want you to tell them the truth. Tell them their mother loved us all very much, but she made a mistake. She suffered from it. She jumped from the ledge of our home because she was afraid of me. Let them know their father was a flawed man, and an angry man, but that he loved their mother and loved them. If they are so inclined, ask them to sacrifice an animal to Jupiter[v], and pray for my safe journey to the afterlife. Do this for me, Pullo. Please.”

His fingers are numb from the strength of Pullo’s grip. “Please,” he repeats weakly.

Pullo nods, his face wet with tears. “I will,” he says gently.

************

He kills Marc Antony with a sword, as a true Roman.

When he receives the letter from Cleopatra, he knows it is all over. Antony howls on the floor in mad grief, and Vorenus wonders if she is truly dead. No, perhaps she is not. The Queen of Egypt is clever and self-interested; she will negotiate with Octavian. She is not the type to die for love. Antony, who always had a maudlin streak, at least while drunk, seems to seize the opportunity.

Even if Cleopatra is alive, it is best this way. Vorenus watches as Antony works up the courage, his fingers gripping the blade.

With a jerk, Antony falls upon the sword. Blood spurts onto Vorenus’s uniform, and he stops himself from stepping backwards fastidiously. It is a curiously noble death, for an ignoble life.

He dresses Antony with care, washing away the traces of years of ignominy and dissolute vice. He sits enthroned, a splendidly handsome Roman general. Perhaps Vorenus did love him a little, too.

Cleopatra weeps at the sight. He did not think he would care—it is not his place to care—but it angers him to see proof of her deception. All the admiration he had developed for her in his years in Egypt fades, as she cries in her dressing gown. He sees a frightened and spoiled woman, undone by her ambition. But she is the mother of Pullo’s child, and so he will protect her if need be. And Caesarion.

“Is he a good man?” she asks. Even in her state, there is something innately royal about her.

A thousand images pass through his mind; Pullo, a disobedient nightmare of a subordinate; a loyal friend; a hearty eater; killed Eirene’s intended; committed atrocities with him in war; loved him; fucked him; saved his life dozens of times over.

“Define good,” he says.

He thinks, _Iacta alea est_. The die is cast.

************

The journey to the afterlife is long. Every step is a memory. He begins with Niobe falling from the ledge. But then he moves on to other memories, happier memories.

In one, they are campaigning somewhere. Gaul, perhaps? A scouting mission. Vorenus sits outside the shelter, watching the flames of the fire flicker in different colors, and the tendrils of heat warm his face while the rest of his body freezes.

Pullo stands outside; says, come inside, come to bed.

He stands, brushes the leaves from his legs, and turns his back on the cold.

 

* * *

[i] According to “Cleopatra: A Life” by Stacey Shiff, the Romans regarded Alexandria with profound suspicion for its Hellenistic heritage, fiercely independent citizens and dangerous intellectual vibrancy.

[ii] Although Upper and Lower Egypt were unified in 3,000 B.C.E., the regions were still semi-autonomous and retained their own regalia.

[iii] Plutarch wrote, “For her actual beauty, it is said, was not in itself so remarkable that none could be compared with her, or that no one could see her without being struck by it, but the contact of her presence, if you lived with her, was irresistible; the attraction of her person, joining with the charm of her conversation, and the character that attended all she said or did, was something bewitching.”

[iv] Dice games were popular with both Egyptians and Romans. Before the invention of the cubical dice, fruit stones and pebbles could be used.

[v] Jupiter, the God of War, and a fitting choice for a soldier.

 

 

 

 __


End file.
